A new sum

On Friday, Joep stood at the bicycle racks with his folder under his arm. One corner of the plastic was torn. Vera came over, still wearing her backpack.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ she said.

Joep looked at her hands. They were empty.

‘Your pencil? That belongs to Bram.’

‘No. I want to say sorry.’

A bicycle bell rang right behind them. They stepped aside for Eef. Joep bent over his lock.

‘You did that on Wednesday.’

‘I said my joke was stupid. But I laughed at you in front of the whole class. I pretended my bench could have a roof at first, too.’

He pulled the lock through his back wheel. ‘You were allowed to change your plan.’

‘So are you.’

‘Not if everyone keeps going on about half a goal.’

Vera looked at the school building. Through an open window, she heard a chair scrape.

‘Then I’ll say it in there again.’

Joep held his bicycle. ‘What?’

‘That I shouldn’t have laughed about it.’

She went inside before she could come up with a different plan. Outside the classroom she stopped after all. Eef was already in her seat. Two boys who’d been at Tuesday’s practice were bending over an exercise book. Their shoulders shook. Vera hoped they were laughing about something else.

Safia pointed to her chair. Vera shook her head.

‘Can I say something?’

The strap of her backpack slipped through her hand. The bag almost fell. She caught it with her knee. That didn’t help at all.

‘About Tuesday. I made a joke about Joep’s goal. His sum was wrong, but I could just have said so. It was mean to make another joke afterwards.’

The boys looked up. One shrugged. ‘It was funny, though.’

‘For you,’ said Vera.

Joep came into the classroom. He said nothing. Vera pushed her bag under the desk and sat down. Her face stayed hot for quite a while.

At break, Joep put his folder beside her on the wall. The trophy was gone. The scoreboard was still there, but a thick line crossed its price.

‘Dad’s got an old net from the club,’ he said. ‘There’s a tear at the bottom. The top’s still good. We can use that to patch ours.’

‘How much does it cost?’

‘Nothing. It’s been in the shed for months. But I have to help.’

Vera studied his new drawing. All sorts of squiggles filled the place where the hole had been.

‘Those are the knots,’ Joep said before she could ask. ‘I practised yesterday. The first one didn’t hold. The second was tied to my trousers.’

‘Are you still wearing them?’

‘No. Dad set me free.’

This time Joep laughed himself. Vera dared to join in.

‘What if you don’t win?’ she asked.

He smoothed the worn corner of the folder. ‘We’ll mend the net anyway. Otherwise I got tied to my trousers for nothing.’

Vera took Bram’s pencil out of her coat pocket. ‘You can take the prices out of your speech.’

‘There are other things that need taking out too.’

He showed her the top sheet. I PROMISE WE’LL WIN was written on it, underlined. Below that he’d put: AND GET A REALLY GOOD GOAL.

‘Nobody can promise the first bit,’ said Vera.

‘Maybe Miep. She’s got a beak.’

‘She can lose too.’

Joep turned the page. He’d written a new one. He kept the first in the folder because there was a drawing on the back he still wanted to use.

After school they went to the shed with Eef. Bram and Kees sat at a table. There were two small wood samples, a hinge and a sheet of prices in front of them.

Vera spotted the sum at the bottom straight away: 132 euros.

‘Is that the bench?’ she asked.

‘The materials we still need to buy,’ Bram said. ‘We have the wood. That price covers a strong base, a backrest and a light lid for the cushions. The club will help build it. We’ll measure and saw. You can help with the sanding while we supervise.’

Kees pulled a sample towards him. ‘And the school has agreed on the spot. The bench belongs to the playground. It isn’t just for whoever wins.’

‘I know,’ Vera said.

‘I’m saying it for myself too. Otherwise I’ll forget I’m allowed to sit on it.’

He leaned a long way back in his chair. Bram held the table steady.

There would be money left. Vera almost asked what else she could buy. A little table? A third cushion? Bram pointed to a second line on the sheet.

‘We’ll put those forty-eight euros aside for now. Something might cost more than we expect. And the bench needs looking after later. If there’s money left, you can discuss together what to do with it.’

Vera folded the sheet carefully. Her granny would bring the blue cushions on Saturday so everyone could see them. Vera would make a rota at school for the book crate. She’d take Monday and Thursday herself. She needed children to help on the other days.

‘I’ll do Tuesday,’ said Eef. ‘If you win. But first you have to beat my plan.’

Bram slid another sheet towards her. New spades, rakes, a little wheelbarrow and a low border came to 157 euros. Eef checked the lines one by one. She tapped the price for the border.

‘That’s with help from the woodworking club?’

‘Yes. Just like the bench.’

She nodded. ‘Then I’m definitely including it. I want to make that clear tomorrow.’

Joep showed his new plan. He wanted to repair the net, then see if the football pitch needed any other little things. First he would play with the other children to try it out. He hadn’t written anything more about the scoreboard.

‘A match without a trophy is allowed,’ Kees said.

‘I still think that’s a shame,’ said Joep.

As they went outside, the baker came into the playground. His dog pulled a little on the lead. There was a sign on his stall: VOTE BORIS. He’d stuck up a photograph of the dog beside it.

‘What will Boris do if he wins?’ Eef asked.

‘Probably what he’ll do if he loses,’ said the baker. ‘I hope so, anyway.’

Boris sniffed Joep’s folder. Joep lifted it higher.

‘He wants to eat my speech.’

‘He wants your sandwich,’ Vera said.

There was half a sandwich at the bottom of the folder. At lunch, Joep had put it between the scoreboard and his new plan. He looked at it briefly, took it out, and dropped it in the bin.

‘More room for talking now,’ he said.